A Thief's Fall
by FantasyBard
Summary: The fall is coming. As the web which Moriarty has woven around Sherlock Holmes slowly begins to tighten, Sherlock finds himself in the impossible position of trying to protect those he cares about, no matter what the cost. And Brenna soon finds herself forced to make a choice which could put everything she has worked for on the line and her very life in danger.
1. The Reichenbach Hero

**Well, here it is, folks: the heartbreak of Reichenbach. I am both looking forward to and dreading this episode, for obvious reasons. I'm sorry that it was a little while before I got this story posted. I just had a few very busy weeks. I don't really have all that much to say in these intro notes, only to say that I hope you enjoy this episode, but also have a box of tissues handy at the very end. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. It belongs to the writers, actors, and was created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle first and foremost. I am just a fan who likes to visit the world every once and awhile, and I make no money off of this enterprise whatsoever. **

**Rating: This chapter is rated T (there might be some M rated material in chapters, but I will include warnings at the beginnings of these chapters), for scenes of sexuality, violence and dark material. **

**So, without further ado, let us jump right into A Thief's Fall. **

**A Thief's Fall, or The Reichenbach Fall**

**The final problem. Moriarty once told Sherlock about their final problem, that an ultimate clash would come, from which only one of them would walk away. He also told Sherlock that he would burn the heart out of him. **

**Sherlock's heart is Brenna Ryan. As their relationship was deepened, and their love grown stronger, Sherlock finds himself beginning to contemplate a step he never thought he would take. However, Moriarty is constantly watching from the shadows, ready to destroy their hope for a new life together. **

**As the world which they have built slowly begins to crumble into dust, Brenna finds herself forced to make difficult decisions that could put everything she has worked for on the line, and her very life in danger. **

**But the fall is coming. For Sherlock, he will do anything to keep Brenna safe. However, the price will be far higher than anyone could ever have suspected. **

**WARNING: This chapter contains some material of a sexual nature. **

The Reichenbach Hero:

It was well known amongst the New Scotland Yard that Sherlock considered the department as nothing more than tools to be used at his back and call. Therefore, it should have been no surprise that he one day barged into the White Collar unit as if he owned the place, and announced to Inspector Bennett without preamble. "Ah, Inspector Bennett, I need to barrow Brenna for a few days."

Alice looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "You want to 'barrow' her? What on earth for if I might ask?"

"For a case, of course." Said Sherlock, as though he considered Bennett a complete idiot for asking. "It's one that is uniquely suited for her talents and would be a far better usage of her time than the myriad, run-of-the-mill insurance schemes you happened to be bogged down in right now."

Before Alice could object to the implication that the workload at the present was still important, even if it didn't measure up to Sherlock's exalted ideal of excitement, Brenna appeared through the doors of the office. Sherlock immediately pounced on her before Alice could intervene. "Brenna, a Turner masterpiece has been stolen from the . Do you want to help me find it?"

Brenna was taken somewhat by surprise at Sherlock's abrupt declaration. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Last night, was broken into. They managed to steal _The Falls of Reichenbach_. I've been called in on the case, and I thought you would like to help."

Had Alice managed to get to get Brenna first, she might have been able to talk some sense into her. Unfortunately, Sherlock's methods of persuasion were rather to intoxicating. Besides, Sherlock wasn't even playing fair. Outside of the French Impressionists, Turner was Brenna's favorite artist, and _The Falls of Reichenbach_ one that she seemed to revere as a religious experience. There was no way insurance scandal or cheque fraud would be able to compete.

No sooner had he started describing the case, than her eyes lit up with excitement, an excitement that disturbingly mirrored Sherlock's when he was on the trail of a serial killer. "Why did they take the painting? How did they do it?"

"No sure why they took it yet, most likely ransom. They were able to circumvent the security around the building wirelessly, but used conventional methods to remove the painting. They left the frame, but so expertly that there didn't appear to be any damage."

"Than they, at least, know that the pictures are of more value whole and undamaged. They know enough about the paintings to get them out of the frames, but since they used outside tech to actually get into the museum, they're tech savvy." Brenna's mind was obviously zooming along at 100 miles an hour, trying to come up with a profile or the thieves, but she suddenly saw Alice staring at her. "Oh, come on, Alcee, you've had me on desk duty all this week. I need some leg work before I die of boredom."

"All right, all right." Said Alice, throwing up her hands in surrender. "If I don't, I know you're going to just pester me about it all day. Just be sure to check in every hour."

Sherlock looked as eager as a child, and was dragging Brenna away by her hand before Alice had even stopped her instructions. Alive was left shaking her head, and smiling in ironic defeat. When it came to Sherlock and Brenna, it was always best to just let them have their own way.

As it was, the case of the stolen Turner painting proved to be a challenge. The painting, normally a part of the in Bedfordshire, had been showing at the museum as part of a traveling exhibit. It had been stolen by a group of highly organized art thieves who normally stole paintings from private collections, and held them for ransom. _The Falls of Reichenbach_ was their first attempt at taking a painting from a major museum. It wasn't long before Sherlock and Brenna were on the trail. They roped in John and Elizabeth's help, or course. It was the first time that Elizabeth had played a direct part in their little adventures, and it honestly surprised John how much she enjoyed it. When chasing down a lead resulted in them racing through London being pursued and shot at by some of the thieves, Elizabeth's first reaction had been to laugh and say, "I can understand why you run around with Sherlock. The rush is incredible."

The two of them went into the flat, where John discovered that he had gotten a text from Sherlock. He read it and his eyes grew wide with surprise and anger. "That bloody git!"

"What is it?" Elizabeth asked. John handed her the phone and Elizabeth read what Sherlock texted.

**John, despite your initial bumbling about, your and Elizabeth provided an excellent distraction to the thieves. Brenna and I managed to get into their hide out and retrieve some excellent information. Thank you. SH **

Elizabeth couldn't help by chuckle. "Well, I suppose John doesn't find you as useless as he always is saying."

"I'll kill him." John muttered.

"No, you won't." Said Elizabeth, "at the very least, you must admit that Brenna has been a good influence on him. He did say thank you after all."

John found himself staring at Elizabeth once again in amazement. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just... I have never seen react the way you do to Sherlock, except for Brenna."

Elizabeth smiled and came closer to him, so close that John could smell her perfume. "Let me tell you a little secret, John. I might be as much of an adrenaline alone junkie as you are. This is just the first time that I have ever been able to take full advantage of it. And for that, I am actually very grateful."

John wasn't sure where his next move came from. It was purely instinctual. A combination of adrenaline from the chase and coming out of it alive, along with the attraction which had been starting to grow between the two of them over the past few months. But the next thing John was aware of, he had pulled Elizabeth into his arms, and was snogging the very breath out of her.

Elizabeth let out a surprised gasp, but after that initial reaction, she began to respond in her own favorable manner. She put her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. She opened her mouth under John's questing tongue, taking advantage of the angle to bite down on his lower lip.

That shattered whatever remaining shred height have had to avoid taking this further. He somehow managed to half carry-half push her to the nearby kitchen counter. He swept away some of the pots and pans which had been on top, causing them to fall to the ground with a loud clattering sound which neither of them were aware of.

John proceeded to lift Elizabeth's shirt over her head, exposing more of his skin to his suddenly greedy mouth and hands. He had to stop kissing her momentarily in order to do this, but he quickly made up by starting to attack her neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses. He lifted her by the waist and settled on her the counter, his hands caressing every inch of her bare skin that he could reach. He was vaguely aware of how grateful he was that she had worn a skirt. He took advantage by shoving the material up around her thighs, giving

him even more to explore.

She moaned loudly, arching her back in order to get closer to him. She locked her ankles behind him, an action that brought her core into contact with his. She instantly had a very clear idea of just how aroused he was. She rubbed against him, making hi harder, as she started to blindly undo the buttons of John's shirt. He was wearing too many clothes when compared with her, of course. It was only fair that she have some skin to touch as well.

John was as appreciative as she had been. He growled, a sound that seemed to well up from within him. There was no doubt in either of theirs minds that they wanted this, and they were going to enjoy it.

Which made it really unfortunate that Brenna had to burst through the door at this exact moment. "Lizzy, you'll never guess what John and I-"

She stopped mid sentence and froze mid stride when she was met with the sight before her. John and Elizabeth were both partially disrobed, their hair in disarray and their lips red and swollen from an abusive amount of kissing. On Elizabeth's neck there was evidence of several marks that would be forming into live bites by the morning. They were also flushed, though whether from passion or embarrassment it would have been impossible to say.

Brenna was no less embarrassed. Thus, the awkwardness on both sides produced a silence that stretched on far too long to be comfortable for any of them.

It was Brenna who at last tried to break the silence. "Uh, did I interrupt something?" Brenna asked, finally.

"Not really." Stammered Elizabeth, "John and I, well… we were…"

John tried to finish the sentence, only he wasn't any better. "And, we were also shot at a little earlier and perhaps the adrenaline and everything…" Realizing that there was really no point in continuing this little interlude, John decided it would probably be best to beat a hasty retreat. "You know, I think maybe I should just leave."

"Yeah, might be for he best. "Said Brenna, "Sherlock will no doubt be willing and eager to fill you in on things."

"Bye, John." Said Elizabeth, as John was moving towards the door. "I'll call you later, all right?"

"Yeah, that would be, uh, good." Said John, with a small smile as he left.

Once they were alone, Brenna turned to her sister in an incredulous look. "Well, it's about time that you and John did something together. It certainly took you long enough."

"You know for a thief, you have a very rotten sense of timing."

"I must be out of touch with my natural gifts after all this time." said Brenna, with a wicked smile. "Don't worry; I'm sure that you two will get another chance."

"Oh, I can guarantee that. Because this time, I'm not waiting for him to make the first move. I'm going to exercise the prerogative of a modern, independent woman, and ask _him_ out."

It only took a few more days for Sherlock and Brenna to retrieve the painting. All it took as luring the thieves into a well placed trap. They posed as fences for a very exclusive and private buyer. They said that they would offer a great deal more for _The Falls of Reichenbach_ than the hospital would pay for the ransom. Greed took over where common sense should have led and the thieves took the theft. Both Sherlock and Brenna played their parts beautifully, and the thieves were taken down without much more trouble, and the painting was returned to the museum.

Once the case went public, it was all over the news. It seemed that more reporters began to follow Sherlock around than at any other point in his case. Suddenly, he began receiving calls and e-mails pestering him about interviews. Sherlock steadfastly refused to answer any of them, and he would have bypassed the attention altogether, had not Brenna and John convinced him otherwise.

This was also the first time that Brenna found herself sharing the spotlight with Sherlock. As her expertise had helped to recover the painting, she was invited to the party that was held at the gallery a few days after the painting had been fully recovered.

Sherlock Holmes and parties really didn't mix. His lack of social skills was made painfully obvious during the Gallery Director's speech of gratitude before the assembled audience. "The _Falls of Reichenbach_, Turner's masterpiece, thankfully recovered owing to the prodigious talent of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and Miss Brenna Ryan."

There was applause from the on looking patrons. John and Brenna managed to acknowledge it gracefully, but Sherlock was standing stiff and uncomfortable, counting the minutes when he would be able to leave this insipid gathering, aside from Brenna and John, there was absolutely no one of interest for him to observe.

The Director approached Sherlock with a small gift wrapped box. "A small token of our gratitude."

Sherlock took the box, looked at it and said, without missing a beat. "Diamond cufflinks. All my coats have buttons."

The director seemed utterly befuddled by this unexpected response. Luckily, both Brenna and John were on hand to avert disaster. "He means thank you." said John.

"Do I?" muttered Sherlock.

"Yes, of course he does." Said Brenna, with a winning smile at the Director, "You see, Sherlock never accepts anything like this for himself. He is always giving me little things like this, and I'm sure that he is thinking of me even now. Diamonds are a girl's best friend, after all, aren't they?" she glanced up at Sherlock, her smile growing wider. "I'm sure that Sherlock is quite anxious to thank you for this opportunity to be generous to me."

There was a moment of silence, wherein Sherlock stared at Brenna, obviously missing the hint. She elbowed him slightly in the ribs and John said, "Just say it."

"Thank you." he said insincerely to the Director.

Thinking that this was finally over, he started to leave, but John stopped him, as he nodded over to the assembled media. "Hey."

Sherlock grimaced, but stayed still for a few more minutes, while the press took what seemed like an endless stream of photographs.

Once Brenna was finally free of the press, she found her sister on the second floor of the gallery, where she had watched the whole thing in relative obscurity. Brenna had to admit that she envied Elizabeth that privilege.

"That was certainly entertaining." Said Elizabeth, as she handed her sister a drink. "Thank goodness that you and John were there to keep Sherlock in line. If it hadn't been for you, Sherlock might start alienating the entire British population right when he starting to make himself popular with them."

"They would. They don't have to live with him. That's why all this media exposure on Sherlock worries me so much. He may seem indestructible, Lizzy, but he's really very fragile. I think part of the reason he's come so far is because he's been so good at keeping secrets."

"Are you afraid that is the media keeps digging, they'll splash them all over the front page for the entire world to see?"

Brenna nodded. "Yes, and if that happens, I don't want to thank of what could happen to Sherlock."

Elizabeth patted her sister's shoulder. "Don't worry, Renna. You know how fickle the media can be. Chances are, once Sherlock's slew of famous cases dies down, so will all the attention focused on him."

"I sure hope you're right." Said Brenna, "Right now, I need to make sure that Sherlock doesn't spoil his reputation by doing something stupid." She took her phone and began typing a text.

"What are you doing?" Elizabeth asked.

"I'm bribing him." Said Brenna, with a grin.

**Behave yourself for these few hours, Sherlock, and I'll make it worth your while tonight. BR**

**Really? How? SH**

**I'll be wearing the red night gown. BR**

Sherlock, who had been reading her texts from across the room, looked over at her, the burning look in his eyes saying that he had got the message.

**Tell me more. SH**

Brenna, satisfied, that she had got Sherlock's attention, glanced at her sister. "You good here? I might want to say some of these things in private."

"Go ahead, I can take care of myself." In fact, this seemed to her a golden opportunity to corner John Watson. When Brenna had gone off, Elizabeth took the chance to go over to John. "Seems like we've both been abandoned." She commented, gesturing to where Sherlock was standing a little ways off, reading Brenna's incoming texts with rapt attention.

"Yes, Sherlock has only recently been introduced to sexting thanks to Brenna's efforts it only makes a certain amount of sense, considering how Sherlock treats his phone like a third hand."

There were a few moments of slightly awkward silence between them, until John finally ventured to say. "Look, Lizzy, I've, uh, been meaning to talk to you about the other night."

"You mean the other night when we were interrupted form having sex in the kitchen?"

"Well, yes. And I just wanted to let you know, that it wasn't a one-off."

Elizabeth smiled at him. "Really?"

"No, I mean, I really like you, Elizabeth, and I want to pursue this… well, whatever it is we have."

"So, you want to start dating?"

"As a matter of face, yes. Would you like to do that, with me?"

"Would I be telling you that I'm not busy on Friday night if I weren't?"

John grinned. "I guess not. So…"

"Yes?"

"Would you like to go out on Friday night?"

"I thought you'd never ask, John. Of course."

That Friday night, John was getting ready to leave on his date. He had just come into the main room of the flat, when Sherlock, sitting at his microscope at the kitchen table, said, "Are you going somewhere important tonight, John?"

John repressed the urge to sigh. He knew what was coming. Every time he tried to go out on a date, Sherlock had to mess it up with his bloody deductions about some aspect of his dress or her behavior would bring the evening to a disastrous close. What made it really irritating was that Sherlock was almost always right. Still, he had wanted to avoid that with Elizabeth if at all possible. "What makes you say that?"

Sherlock glanced up at him. "You've shaved since this morning. You hate going out to somewhere nice with a five o' clock shadow. You think it makes you look like a hobo. You must be going somewhere nice, business casual going by the looks of your clothes. You don't like throwing money away on yourself at fancy restaurants, so you must be going some place with another person." He inhaled slightly and said, "Oh yes, also wearing cologne, only do that when it's someone you fancy."

"Just spit it out, Sherlock. Yes, I m going on a date. Yes, it's with Elizabeth. Anything else that you would care to add?"

Sherlock shrugged and returned to his microscope. "Nope, not really. Have fun."

John, for lack of any better description, gaped at Sherlock in shock. "That's it?"

Sherlock looked up at him again. "What's what?"

"That's all you have to say, have fun? Normally, you're ruining any fun I might have before I'm even out the door. You are a portent of doom when it comes to dating, Sherlock, you know right?"

"And yet, I am the one who has had the stable relationship for the last two years, while you have had a string of unsuccessful girlfriends who you could never keep straight anyway. I fail to see what all the fuss is about, though. You're going out with Elizabeth tonight; why on earth should I object?"

"That's the first time you've actually had no objections to me trying to expand my circle of relationships beyond you?"

"Well, Elizabeth is tolerable company. She is as dull and boring as the rest of the women you've seen in the past. Plus, she is also Brenna's sister, so that must mean that she must have some modicum of above average intelligence."

"I'll be sure to tell her that. She'll be charmed that you saw fit to give her such high compliments. If that the only reason you're not trying to ruin this first date for me?"

Sherlock smirked fondly as he looked into his microscope again. "Brenna might have said that if I made any attempt at interference she wouldn't sleep with me for a year."

"I'm sure that would have worked. Well, thanks for the support, Sherlock. I, uh, appreciate what you're doing. I know how much self discipline it takes not to analyze every situation to within an inch of its life. I just hope you won't feel a need to stay up for me like you normally."

Sherlock's eyes snapped up to stare at him. "I don't do that. I never do that."

"Of course, you don't, Sherlock." said John, as he put on his card ad prepared to walk out the door, but Sherlock's voice stopped him.

"Oh, and John, be sure to compliment Elizabeth's shoes. Being in the Air Force she doesn't have much time to wear really nice shoes, and she really likes them. Don't stare at her legs to long, though, or she might get the wrong idea as to what you are after."

John rolled his eyes, but he found himself smiling. It seemed he would never be able to fully escape Sherlock's penchant for offering unwanted advice. Still, given the alternative, he had to admit, that he preferred this. "Thanks, Sherlock, I'll remember that."

**Well, we have our beginning. Please read and review to let me know what you think. The best part of this story is being able to hear the feedback. Hopefully, the next chapter will be up in a few days. **


	2. Exposure

**Here is the next chapter of A Thief's Fall. I have no witty introduction, so please enjoy!**

Exposure:

After the Reichenbach case, it seemed that Sherlock's fame skyrocketed. Up until this point, he, had been known mostly amongst internet groupies, thanks in part to John's blog. But the press, which had before merely regarded Sherlock as something of a curiosity, now began to hover more thickly than ever.

Also, the pressed began to notice that the eponymous Sherlock "Hat-man" Holmes had a companion other than John Watson. And it was a woman. There had been trickles of such an arrangement over the past few months, but the woman herself seemed to be incredibly skilled at disappearing and until the Reichenbach case, her very name had been a mystery. The stolen Turner changed all of that. When the paper came out covering the return of the painting. Brenna's picture was featured almost as heavily as John and Sherlock. And it did not escape the notice of anyone that Sherlock's actions towards her were certainly of a romantic nature.

Immediately, the story of the shadowy consulting detective grew even more interesting. In the press, questions and speculation ran rife through its pages. Who was this Brenna Ryan? Where had she come from and why had she captured the attention of Sherlock Holmes when seemingly no other woman could? What did John Watson, confirmed bachelor, think of the arrangement? Was it a threesome?

Within weeks, Sherlock was flooded with cases, most of them earning a great deal of media attention. First, there was the case of the kidnapped banker, than Sherlock located one of the most wanted criminals on the list of INTERPOL. This had ended with a press conference at the police station, where Sherlock was presented with his very own deer stalker. This certainly didn't grant him any joy, anymore than did posing with the deer stalker for the press immediately following. However, it was evident that Lestrade and many others on the police force seemed to get a big kick out of it.

When the papers came out over the next few days, it seemed that there was nothing more exciting than Sherlock Holmes. Some of the attention catching headlines included "Hero 'Tec Cracks 'Unsolvable case" and "Boffin Sherlock Holmes Solves Another." And as usual, Sherlock was not amused.

"'Boffin.'" Scoffed Sherlock, angrily as he stomped across the room and slammed a copy of the "Daily Star, on top of the pile which was steadily growing on the coffee table in front of the couch.

"Everyone gets one." Said John, who didn't react at all to Sherlock's outburst, and simply continued reading the article. Unlike Sherlock, he seemed to enjoy all of the attention to a certain degree.

"One what?"

"Tabloid nickname: SuBo"; Nasty Nick. Shouldn't worry, I'll probably get one soon."

Without missing a beat, Sherlock replied. "Page five, column six, first sentence."

John furrowed his eyebrow in confusion and turned to the page that Sherlock had indicated. Sherlock himself snatched up the loathed hat from the fireplace and punched it angrily, as though that would make the entire symbolism of his popularity disappear. "Why is always the hat photograph?"

"_Bachelor_ John Watson?" John said in disbelief, as he read the article.

Paying no attention to John's incredulity. "What sort of hat is it anyway?"

"'Bachelor?' What the hell are they implying?"

Sherlock held up the hat, and twisting it back and fourth in front of his face. The man who could deconstruct a crime scene in the space of a few seconds was apparently baffled by a piece of head gear. "Is it a cap? Why has it got two fronts?"

John glanced up only briefly. "It's a deerstalker." He went back to the article. "'Frequently seen in the company of bachelor John Watson…"

"You stalk a deer with a hat?" said Sherlock, utterly mystified by what this could be. "What are you gone do, throw it?"

"'Confirmed bachelor John Watson. Another frequent companion of the dynamic duo is a woman known as Brenna Ryan. At this time, the exact nature between the three of them is unknown, although there have been reports that the three of them might have an arrangement of mutual understanding.'" This part of the article seemed to diminish John's annoyance at being labeled a "confirmed bachelor." Instead, he grew slightly worried about just how much Brenna's name was starting to come up, and just what the press was saying.

Sherlock was totally oblivious, still obsessing over the hat. "Some sort of death Frisbee?"

"Okay, this is too much. We need to be more careful."

"It's got flaps…ear flaps." Said Sherlock, as though this were doubly idiotic. "It's an _ear_ hat, John." Having had enough of the hat, he threw the hat John, who didn't even need to lift his hand in order to catch it. It was only at this moment that he saw the expression on John's face. "What do you mean, 'more careful?'?"

"I mean, this is isn't a deerstalker now; it's a Sherlock Holmes hat. It means that you're not exactly a private detective anymore. And Brenna isn't a former criminal trying to go straight. You are this far from being famous and taking her with you."

"Oh, it'll pass." Said Sherlock, as he threw himself into his chair.

"It'd _better_ pass. The press will turn, Sherlock. They always turn, and they'll turn on you."

Sherlock stared at John, a new source of confusion entering the conversation for him. "It really bothers you."

"What?"

"What people say?"

"Yes."

Sherlock had no idea why this should be an issue for John. Why should he be concerned with something that couldn't hurt him in the long run? "About me? I don't understand. Why should it upset you?"

"Look, Sherlock, if you don't care about this media storm hovering around you, at least think about what it will do for Brenna. You have to see that the media starting to look to closely at Brenna could cause trouble for her, it could even put her in danger." He sighed and shook his head as he turned back to the paper. "Just try to keep a low profile. Find yourself a _little_ this week. For your sake, as well as Brenna's, stay out of the press."

Silence followed this conversation, with John reading through the rest of the newspaper, and Sherlock sulking in his chair. It was only broken by the arrival of Brenna herself. "Evening, you two." She paused, as she took in the scene before her. "Have you two been having another one of your domestics?"

"John and I do not have 'domestics.'" Said Sherlock.

"No, you simply argue like an old married couple."

"Don't worry, Brenna. Nothing to major." Said John, "We were just talking about Sherlock's recent stint at fame, and it involved the hat."

"Oh, that explains your petulance, Sherlock." Brenna picked up the hat from the coffee table and examined it. "I am surprised that you haven't burned up this hat is some sort of experiment before now. You know you're starting to gain a following, Sherlock. I'm not going to tell you about some of the pictures I've seen on Tumblr about this hat."

"You're not going to tell me I look adorable in it, are you?" asked Sherlock, sulkily.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because that's what girlfriends do, isn't it? Always say that their significant others look adorable in an article of clothing that their boyfriends despise?"

"Okay, first of all, Sherlock, as you have said many times, I am not your girlfriend and you are hardly a typical boyfriend. Secondly, I am not going to do that. I personally don't think that you look good in this hat or any hat really. You're head is too small."

"Excuse me?" said Sherlock.

"That wasn't meant as an insult, Sherlock. You know as well as I do that head size has nothing to do with establishing intelligence. At any rate, regardless of what I think, you wouldn't be wearing this again if your life depended on it. On the other hand, you really can't destroy this. It was a gift."

"So what do you suggest we do with it?"

Brenna smirked, walked over to Billy the Skull and placed it on top of the mantelpiece decoration. "There. I have to say that Billy really sports this hat quite well."

Though Sherlock would have liked to completely forget that the deerstalker hat existed at all, Billy the Skull warring it was an acceptable compromise.

* * *

Despite his declaration to the contrary, one part of his conversation with John did linger in Sherlock's mind after it was over. Namely, what John had said about Brenna possibly being put in danger because of this latest attention from the press. Sherlock wasn't really concerned for himself, but Brenna was an entirely different story. He didn't want to think that any lack of foresight on his part would once again result in her getting hurt.

These thoughts were worrisome enough to him to bring them up to Brenna later that night. Once they were in his room together, he asked, in his usual abrupt manner, "Brenna, do you think the press is paying to much attention to you because of me?"

From the bed, Brenna looked up at him, with a furrowed brow. "Um, to be quite honest, I hadn't thought of it. Well, maybe I have, a little. I have noticed some of the paparazzi hanging around my flat. A few reporters trying to get my statement. But it's been nothing major so far. I assumed that it would all die down once your popularity does, which I'm sure it will be soon. The press is ever so fickle."

"Yes, but what if it doesn't just stop? What if it keeps going? Have you given any idea as to what the consequences might be?"

Brenna looked closely at Sherlock and said, "Was this what you and John were really talking about when I came in?"

"Well, yes, if you must know." Sherlock sat down on the bed beside her. For a few moments, he didn't speak. It was still a challenge for him to open to Brenna about something like this. "John said… well, he implied that my exposure in the press might throw you into an unwanted light of attention. He said that it could potentially cause a lot of trouble for you down the line."

"Really? I suppose that he could be right. The press is, in many ways, the original con artists. They are very good at taking the facts, mixing in a few lies to make the whole thing more exciting, and then putting those two ingredients together into a story that anyone will believe. It's quite an effective strategy."

"And the fact that they are so very good at it does not bother you at all?" Sherlock asked. "Brenna, I don't pretend that your past didn't happen. I know the things you've done. They are in the past, however, and are therefore of no concern to me. I don't want you suffering for them right now." He took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair. "I'm not concerned for myself, Brenna. But I can't let anything happen to you, not… not after what happened the last time. But I can't control this, however much I might like to."

"Then I wouldn't suggest trying." Said Brenna, as she touched Sherlock's cheek and turned him to face her. "There are many things that you have protected me from, Sherlock. But my past isn't one of them. If any consequences come to me because of what I did, I am going to have to handle them on my own."

"Just so long as you remember that you won't have to face them alone." said Sherlock, "Because it doesn't matter what the press tries to say about you, I'm going to leave your side to face them alone."

"Thank you, Sherlock." said Brenna, with a smile, as she kissed Sherlock's forehead. "But it hopefully won't come to that. The press will find someone else to stalk as long as you don't give them an interesting target, and really, what could be more interesting than you capturing one of the most wanted criminals in the world? Honestly, I think you might have hit the height of your powers."

Sherlock perked up when he heard these words, and the decidedly sultry way in which they were spoken. "Oh, really, is that what you think?"

"Oh, yes. It can only go downhill from here."

Sherlock smirked. He put both hands on Brenna's shoulders and lowered her to the bed so that he was towering over her. "If that's your opinion, Brenna, allow me to show you just how heightened my powers of deduction are right now."

* * *

A few days later, Brenna came out of Sherlock's bedroom early on morning, to find Sherlock sitting at his microscope. "Morning, Brenna. Have a nice lie in." Sherlock asked, as she came into the kitchen.

"Quite." Said Brenna as she kissed Sherlock's head. "I love having days off, especially when I get to spend them with you. What have you been doing since six o' clock this morning?"

Sherlock gestured to a stack of dusty books on the table beside him. "Lestrade sent me some cold case files. I'm sure on John's suggestion. He's determined in making sure that I don't end up in the press this week."

"And yet, a few days ago, you were the one who was worrying about my exposure to the press and the harmful effects that it could have on me. John just might be worried about you in the same fashion."

"I don't need him to watch out for me."

"And yet, here you are solving these cases."

Sherlock's eyes moved ever so slightly from the microscope to look up at her. There was a touch of annoyance in their ice blue depths, a clear sign that Brenna had backed him into a corner. "Well, as long as they're here, I might as well solve them. Are you quite finished?"

"For now, yes." Said Brenna, with a sweet smile. She poured herself some coffee and went into the living room. She paused for a moment, stared at the sight in front of her, and then said, "I must say, I love what you've done with the place since last night." She pointed to the life size dummy which was literally hanging from the ceiling. "Is he permanent?"

"He's part of an experiment that I need to solve one of these cases." Said Sherlock, as though it were an everyday occurrence to see such a sight in one's living room. For Sherlock, of course, it actually was.

"I don't even wanton know." Moving past the dummy, she took a seat on the couch. When she walked past the desk, Sherlock's phone chimed. "You got a text."

"So I have." said Sherlock, without moving from his microscope. "I know what that sound means."

"Aren't you going to read it?"

"Why should? It's still be there when I'm finished, whoever sent it will just have to wait."

"Ever the social butterfly, aren't you?" she said, but didn't press the issue.

They continued on in this way, Brenna on the couch working on some concept sketches for a series of paintings she was planning, and Sherlock working on his case files. John came down for a shower and came out about twenty minutes later. Just as he did so, Sherlock's phone chimed yet again. "Is that your phone?" He asked.

"Yes, it keeps doing that."

"It's been about three times the past hour." Brenna remarked.

John evidently came to the same conclusion of letting Sherlock answer his own texts in his own good time. He came into the living room, sat down in his chair, and began reading the paper. "So, did you just talk to him for very long time?" He nonchalantly asked, referring to the dummy.

"Oh, Henry Fishgard never committed suicide." Sherlock picked up the old book which Brenna assumed was part of the old case and slammed it shut with an air of contempt. "Bow Street Runners: missed everything."

"So, a pressing case, then?" said John.

"They're all pressing till they're solved."

Fifteen minutes later, their idyll was broken by the still insistent chiming of Sherlock's phone. Brenna and John both looked up. "It's not going to be ignored, is it?" Brenna remarked.

Realizing that they weren't going to be getting any peace unless that text was answered, John sighed heavily and got to his feet. "I'll get it, shall I?" He muttered.

He went over to Sherlock's phone, picked it up and stared at the text. As soon as he read the words on the screen, any previous irritation he might have been feeling vanished. His face grew serious and ice shot through him. He turned to look at Brenna, and she was a little confused when she saw the worry on his face.

"John, is everything all right?" Brenna asked.

Instead of answering, John went into the kitchen and held out the phone to Sherlock. "Sherlock."

"I'm busy." Said Sherlock, looking intently into his microscope.

"Sherlock."

"Now now." Snapped Sherlock, irritation growing as he had no idea what could be so important that John would continue to disturb him.

But John's next words shattered any chance of Sherlock simply ignoring him this time. "He's back."

Sherlock did not need to be told who "he" was. His attention immediately caught, he took the phone from John and read the text message from Moriarty. **Come to Tower Hill and Play. X. JM.**

Sherlock's face didn't show anything but the barest flicker of emotion. But insider, he had begun to roil with the rage which only Moriarty was capable of arousing. He glanced upward at Brenna, who had gotten to her feet when she heard the two of them speaking. Brenna saw by the look on Sherlock's face that it was Moriarty who had been texting Sherlock for the past hour. The thought sent a chill down her spine.

Her phone on the coffee table suddenly rang. Hurrying over to it, she picked it up and said, "Hello?"

"Brenna." It was Alice, and the tone of her voice indicated that she was about to impart something very serious to her. "I'm sorry to have to call you in on your day off, but I need you to get over to the Tower of London."

"Why?" Brenna asked, for some reason dreading the answer.

"Jim Moriarty just tried to steal the Crown Jewels."

* * *

**Please read and review. **


	3. Witness

**Sorry for the long update in-between chapters. I am hoping to get a little more regular in the updates now that summer is here. Hopefully, this chapter will make up for the delay. Enjoy!**

Witness:

It was, in many respects, the perfect crime, the one which every criminal dreams of being able to pull off at least once in their lives. Not only had Moriarty managed to break into the Tower of London to steal the Crown Jewels in broad daylight, but also had shut down the security systems at the Pentonville Prison and broke open all the vaults in the Bank of England. He had somehow managed all three things almost simultaneously, and from one location. The what was very certain. The how was another matter entirely.

The oddest thing about the whole thing was what the outcome of all this had been. The vaults were opened, but no money was taken. The cells had released their prisoners, but the doors to the outside world had remained firmly shut. And though Moriarty had broken into the Tower and, he hadn't taken the jewels. Indeed, he had been sitting on the throne in full regalia, waiting for the police with a smirk on his face and a mischievous glint in his eye. To him, it seemed as though the whole thing was a joke.

It wasn't a joke for Sherlock or Brenna when they arrived at the Tower. Indeed, they both felt as though there was something very wrong about this entire thing. It was quite clear from watching the security footage that Moriarty had never actually intended to make off with the Crown Jewels, and had almost been showing off for the security cameras the entire time.

"Is he actually dancing?" Alice asked, when they looked over the security footage, along with Sherlock, John and Lestrade.

"Yes, I believe he is." Said Brenna, "Can't say that I blame him, though. I looked at his phone before we came here. The last song he was playing was the overture from Rossini's opera, _The Thieving Magpie_. It's quite a catchy tune, so I can understand why Moriarty chose it as a soundtrack to acts of grand larceny."

Sherlock didn't comment on this, watching the screens intently, though for what not even he would have been able to say specifically. They were currently watching the footage which had been taken from directly behind Moriarty when he had been breaking into the glass case which held the Crown Jewels. Moriarty had managed to break through the glass quite easily, by using a nearby fire extinguisher.

"That glass is tougher than anything." Said Lestrade, as they watched the glass shattering all too easily.

"Not tougher than crystallized carbon," said Sherlock, "He used a diamond."

"There was gum in the wreckage of the glass." Said Brenna, "He created a weak point in the glass by putting the gum onto the glass. He then used the fire extinguisher to put the maximum amount of pressure on that weak point that he could. From there, the rest was easy."

Lestrade shifted the angle of the camera to show the reverse side of the glass case. They saw the glass rising back into place before Moriarty had shattered it. Just as Moriarty pulled back the extinguisher, the message which he had written on the front of the glass case now became legible. He had deliberately written the words backwards so that they could be seen from the camera on the other side of the case. It did not help Brenna's state of mind to see that the message read "Get Sherlock." Moriarty had even gone so far as to draw a little smiley face inside the "O" of "Sherlock." There was no way that such a message could have good implications for Sherlock.

There was really not much for them to do at the crime scene. It had all happened so fast and so efficiently, that there was nothing new which they could tell the police. Plus, since Moriarty had essentially allowed himself to be caught, there was also no suspect to try and find.

Sherlock could not fail to notice the affect that the events were having on Brenna. She seemed very silent and withdrawn. She kept looking all around her with an expression that struck him as being indescribably sad. When the investigation at the Tower were wrapping up, he saw her slipping away to be alone. Sherlock followed her.

He found Brenna sitting on one of the benches on the main green of the Tower. Though the Tower had been closed to visitors for the rest of the day because of the police investigation, the Beefeaters were still on patrol, and the famous ravens were out on the lawn.

He sat down beside her, and the two of them were silent for a moment, before Sherlock asked, "How are you feeling? You seemed very distracted in the Jewel House, not that I can blame you."

"It's not just coming into contact with Moriarty again, but this whole thing is sort of affecting me on a more personal level. I love the Tower, Sherlock. My father always insisted that we come here on every family vacation. It contains some of my most vivid childhood memories. Dad and mum taught me so much about the history and stories of this place. In a way, they planted the seeds here in the Tower for everything that I would become."

"You also seem to love seeing the ravens whenever you come here." Sherlock observed.

"Yes, another memory of my father. One of the meanings of my name is little raven. It was the nickname that my father gave me, and it originated here."

Sherlock raised on eyebrow. "Your father gave you a nick name after a bird that is symbolic of death and despair, in a castle that is notorious for its own bloody history? I think you can see where I got my own aversion to nicknames?"

Brenna couldn't help but smile a little but at this. "Sherlock, the raven isn't all about doom and gloom. My father always used to say that I had all of the best qualities of ravens, their cleverness, loyalty and intelligence. I sometimes wonder if I was able to live to such a high standard"

"I'm sure that if he were here right now, he would be proud of you."

Brenna turned a sad smile in his direction. "I would like to think you were right. It's just that Moriarty breaking in here like this; it's more than him plundering a national treasure. It's like he's violating one of my memories as well."

There was a pause, before Sherlock said, "We will stop him, Brenna. One way or another, this will all end."

"I certainly hope that you are right, Sherlock."

"Do you ever miss him? Your father, I mean?" Sherlock asked, after a moment of silence.

Brenna nodded, and there were unshed tears in her eyes. "Every day, Sherlock, every day. I wish that we could stop Moriarty, the bastard. Than maybe, he could finally come home."

Sherlock made no answer, and for a time, the two of them simply sat on the bench, and took in the atmosphere which a place like the Tower will always be steeped in. Finally, Brenna took a deep breath and got to her feet. "Well, I suppose we should head back. They will probably be wondering where we are."

Sherlock rose with her. "You don't have to be frightened, you know. I'm here."

Brenna smiled at Sherlock and said, "I know, you are, Sherlock. And you always will be."

As she turned away, she did not see the brief flash of doubt that colored Sherlock's ice blue eyes. Had she done so, she might very well have started to ask questions which she would not have liked the answers too. But for that moment, she was innocent of the knowledge which would bring her great pain in the future.

* * *

That evening, having assured himself that Brenna would be all right on her own, made a trip to Mycroft's office. Mycroft pulled nearly the same insane hours as Sherlock, so it was really no surprise for him to see his brother working late and looking as impeccably groomed as ever. "Oh, there you are, Sherlock." said Mycroft, by way of greeting, "Considering the events of this morning, I almost expected you to show you up quite a bit earlier than this."

Sherlock took a seat in front of the desk without being asked. "I needed to make sure that Brenna suffered no ill effects from being once more exposed to Moriarty. You might remember that she was kidnapped and tortured by him less than four months ago. She is still understandably easily traumatized when it comes to him."

"Yes, well, I hope that she is able to face what is coming. You do know that Moriarty's allowing himself to be arrested is not going to be so simple, nor will it be the end of him?"

"I know. If he had the power to simultaneously break into three of the most secure locations in the country at the exact same time, he could have done so without getting caught. This is all part of some larger scheme that he is planning."

"And which will inevitably lead to your downfall. We both knew that this was coming when we started out on this plan, Sherlock. Now, the question is, how do we proceed?"

Sherlock did not answer immediately. His fingers were steepled in front of his face, his mind working furiously. All this had started months before, after the Baskerville case. When Mycroft had revealed to him that he had Moriarty in custody, the two Holmes brothers had been playing a dangerous game with the master criminal. Moriarty had wanted Sherlock's life story, and in exchange he was willing to give up small pieces of information that he believed Mycroft might find useful. Mycroft had refused at first, unwilling to put the life of his brother in danger. But even from prison, Moriarty had been able to threaten the life of Anthea, Mycroft's wife.

Torn between the choices he needed to make, Mycroft had let Sherlock in on the secret. Sherlock had come up with a plan to beat Moriarty at his own game. Even in the months when he had heard nothing from Moriarty, there had always been a part of his mind working upon the puzzle which he presented. He had come to know that the network which Moriarty controlled was vast. Brenna's father, Olivier, had been deep undercover for the past seven years, and his work had yielded some important information, but not nearly enough to put together an effective strategy to combat it. But with Moriarty willing to give up some things, it was too good a chance to pass up.

So, Sherlock had told Mycroft to give Moriarty what he wanted. It pained Mycroft more than Sherlock might have realized to do such a thing, but it had worked. Moriarty did tell Mycroft many things about his network; though always in a vague and riddling sort of way, so that Mycroft and Sherlock always had to work together in order to put the pieces all together.

And yet it had been enough. The criminal enterprise that Moriarty had created stretched from the darkest corners of the Middle East to the cosmopolitan cities of Europe and America. Moriarty controlled everything, from drug and human trafficking routes to terrorist cells. He even seemed to enjoy dabbling in kidnapping, extortion and assassinations.

And yet, for all this effort, there was still was not enough information. Both Mycroft and Sherlock decided it was time to let Moriarty go, to see what his next move would be. And the events of that morning appeared to be it.

"The trial is most likely going to be nothing more than a sham." Said Sherlock, "Moriarty will walk away scott free. But he could also be avoiding the whole thing. He chose this course of action."

"It has garnered him a great deal of attention." Said Mycroft, "Even international news sources have picked up on the story. I would imagine that it will catch the attention of some of his more questionable associates. They will be watching the outcome of the trial very closely."

"That just might be what he is after." Said Sherlock, "He wants them to see just what he is capable of, perhaps even be aware of how he did it. Mass advertising, that's what he wants."

"That is a good deduction, but it still gives no clue as to why he would want your life story."

"Oh, I am sure that he means to ruin me in some way or another, though how he intends to do so, I have yet to determine."

"You are acting very cavalier about this. You are aware of how serious this is, Sherlock. Moriarty isn't going to stop until he destroys you, in thee most painful way possible. Have you given no thought at all to your own safety?"

"Why should I? That's what I have you for, isn't it?" At Mycroft's annoyed glare, Sherlock conceded. "Yes, Mycroft, I know how serious this is, but what do you expect me to do? Start acting all dour and serious? That would only tip Brenna off and I don't think that is something either of us want."

"Does she suspect that any of this is going on?"

"No, I don't think so. It feels strange keeping a secret like this from her, but it's the only way she will remain safe." Sherlock was determined that Brenna should not get involved with Moriarty again. She had dug too deep when she had tried to discover information about her father. It had brought her to close to the secrets which Moriarty was trying to predict. She had paid a heavy price. "Besides, I intend to make sure that before this over, Moriarty will be out of our lives for good."

"Sherlock, how can you be so certain of that? We need to have some sort of plan in case-"

"No!" Sherlock stated firmly. He knew where this conversation was heading. He and Mycroft had had it several times before ever since they had begun this plan. "I am not going to even consider that possibility."

"You might have to, Sherlock. Olivier Ryan was left with no choice but to fake his own death in order to continue his efforts to stop Moriarty. If you continue on this course of action, you might find yourself in the same position."

"Yes, and in doing that, Olivier Ryan condemned his daughter and entire family to anguish and heartbreak. I am not going to put Brenna through that. Good night, Mycroft." Sherlock stated firmly, as he rose to his feet and headed for the door, fully intending to leave then and there.

And yet, there was something in the tone of Mycroft's next words which stopped him. "You cannot escape the facts, Sherlock. Moriarty is going to come after you in a way that you will not be able to foresee, and when that happens, you will only have a limited amount of time to counter with your own plan. Whether you like it or not, Sherlock, the choice might be out of your hands."

Sometimes, Sherlock did not know if he was more annoyed that Mycroft kept constantly bringing this up, or frightened when he realized that his brother just might be right. He hated to think that he might be placed in the exact same position as Oliver Ryan, that he would be forced to leave everything he knew in order to do what he had to. Sherlock may have denied that he was capable of sentiment. But in these last two years, he had formed attachments to people and places that he would be loath to sever his ties from. Brenna, John, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, they were the people who had come to define him, and losing them would break his heart. He would give his life for them; he refused to let himself think that he would have to leave them.

And so, he pushed his fears and Mycroft's words into the very depths of his Mind Palace, resolving to keep them locked away and hidden. He gave no response to Mycroft's warnings, only giving him one last curt nod, before finally leaving.

**Foreshadowing for the heartbreak that is soon to come. In the next chapter, the trial for Moriarty starts, with Brenna and Sherlock both giving testimony. However, in an encounter that neither of them knows the full importance of at the moment, they also meet a certain reporter named Kitty Riley. But for right now, please read and review. **


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